Letters to Lucille
by HannibelleLecter
Summary: Letters from Everett to Lucille. English task for school, where we had to research something, then write about it like the author of FFA. These are romantic letters from a Everett, who becomes ill while his love is away. We now have a cure, but this was the 1920s, so Everett's journey is quite different...


_So this was done for English after we read Flowers for Algernon. It really has nothing to do with the story, the point of the task was to research an illness or a piece of history and write a fictional piece about it, so we'd get a feel for the type of work the auth or Flowers for Algernon did. This is my work. My friends dis it too, and we all had different work, including poems and stuff, so if you're interested, review and I'll put them up too!_

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><p><strong><span>Letters to Lucille<span>**

_Tuesday 17th May, 1921_

Dear Lucille,

It has only been a week since your departure, and yet it seems like forever.

I expect that Ingrid's letters won't mention it, but she misses you dearly. We both do. She simply does not wish to upset her younger sister with complaints. I, on the other hand, shall be spending the rest of my life with you, and I cannot bear to withhold the truth, even for your own good.

However, I do not want you to regret anything. We both agreed to postpone the wedding, and I can bear the distance if it means that you will have the education you deserve. This scholarship will secure our future. I am so proud - my wife will be one of the first female doctors in history!

All is well here at home. It is fortunate that I am living in the same building as your sister. She and Nathaniel often invite me for dinner with the family, and we spend the evening playing cards after the children are asleep.

It is only late at night when the headaches begin, and they are usually gone by morning. Please don't worry; they are no worse than last week.

I hope you settle in, get acquainted and write often.

Yours faithfully,

_Everett_

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><p><em>Saturday 21st May, 1921<em>

Dear Lucille,

It is great to hear you are well. Your letter makes medicine sound interesting, even to a man who despises visits to the doctor. I am very glad of your accomplishments so far.

The headaches have become slightly worse, but it is nothing to worry about. I am only mentioning it because you told me not to leave out a detail. Ingrid suspects that I am tired from our late nights, and has advised me to spend more time resting.

I've been working on some original pieces which the students are enjoying. I asked them to guess the composer, just like the first time we met. I still remember how it felt when the most beautiful girl I had ever seen told me that she loved my music. I can't quite recall your guesses, but some of them were quite amusing.

I trust that you are taking advantage of your location. I cannot begin to imagine the music at London, please write about it in your next letter.

Yours with love,

_Everett_

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><p><em>Thursday 27th May, 1921<em>

Dear Lucille,

Your last letter was a wonderful read. Who knew that one hour could be filled with so much music!

Ingrid has confined me to bed for the past two days, due to a fever. I must admit, I agree that I should be resting, but I am so eager to go back to the school. I wonder how the students are doing.

Lying in bed is extremely tedious, and I often find my thoughts wandering off. I found myself playing strange scenarios in my head yesterday. I was thinking about my life as a quest for you. Your parents were there, repeating over and over again that the key to your heart was music. I was following, travelling the world, attempting to make an impression, but you would not take any notice of me. I would write papers about things that didn't interest me and sneak them into your books, but you would merely glance at them and remain indifferent. Eventually I had enough, and Ingrid was there telling me to go to sleep.

I awoke confused, unsure of what had been real and what had been my imagination. I'm not aware of the exact point at which I fell asleep and began dreaming either.

I am extremely tired and this letter is taking a lot of effort. I shall seal it up now and ask Ingrid to send it along with her next letter. I expect that she will go home soon, leaving me alone to rest. I might spend some time reading your letter again, savouring every word, before I fall asleep.

I am confident that I will be well soon, so please don't worry about me. Next time I'm unwell, which I hope is not too soon, I will have my very own doctor tending to me. I cannot wait to see you again.

Write back my love,

_Everett_

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><p><em>Saturday 29th May, 1921<em>

Dear Lucille,

I have not been well for the past couple of days, and aside from reading you last letter, writing to you seems like the most worthwhile pastime.

It was only ten years ago when I was a foolish seventeen year old. I recall how much I hated Ingrid, despising her lack of humour and the indifferent way in which she acted. I remember comparing you and your sister, wondering why she was always so cold and strict, never realising how difficult it was for an older sister to take the place of a mother. Do you remember how happy she was the day she married Nathaniel? I had been on leave for a fortnight, and when I saw her, she was a different person. She was the Ingrid I know now, and I am so grateful to have her by my side in your absence.

My condition has been worsening over the last couple of days, to the point where I am too tired to walk around the room. Nathaniel visits every day for a few games, and brings the children along to tell their Uncle Rett about school.

When I am alone, I think about you. I think about the moment you accepted my marriage proposal, the day you were offered the scholarship and I think about what you might be doing now.

And now as I close this letter, I think about you.

Love,

_Everett._

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><p><em>Friday 5th June, 1921<em>

Dear Lucille,

I apologise for my lack of letters recently. The truth is that I forgot to write and I am not sure why. It was only yesterday that Ingrid told me about your concerns. She was surprised that I had not written for so long.

Nathaniel suggested that I write down how I feel so that you may be able to help me. I told him that I have already told you about everything, but he reminded me that I haven't written for almost a week.

I am no longer fond of eating. Although I get hungry at times, I can only eat a little at a time, and I usually can't keep any of my food in. Ingrid has become frustrated with me, as I have with her. She continues to force me to eat, and I continue to refuse. Sometimes I am not hungry and sometimes I simply cannot be bothered chewing or getting up. Most of the food comes back out, regardless.

For the past week, I'm too tired to do anything and I would rather just sleep than talk, eat or drink. I just wish everyone would leave me alone so that I can get better.

_Everett_

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><p><em>Monday 7th June, 1921<em>

Dear Lucille,

Ingrid arranged a visit from a doctor this morning, on your advice.

He was a rather annoying man who continued to ask questions about how I felt. At first it was fine, but he kept asking me for more detail and it became tiring so I told him to hurry up. When I was finally able to close my eyes, he began talking to Ingrid.

Your sister told the doctor things that I am completely convinced were lies. She told him that I twitch and shake in my sleep. I immediately began to deny it, but the doctor nodded his head, mutter words like tremors and convulsions. He even mentioned seizures at some point, and I was going to complain, but I decided to sleep instead.

_Everett_

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><p><em>Sunday 13th June, 1921<em>

Dear Lucille,

I am writing this letter from the infirmary on Wisconsin Lane. I can't recall the name.

I arrived here a couple of days ago, and Nathaniel reminded me to write to you.

The doctors have told me that I have Encephalitis, an inflammation of the brain. They have told me that it is caused by the spreading of bacteria, and have suggested that it is from the sharing of musical instruments.

I am really confused about everything right now. Sometimes I don't remember who brought me here or how the last few weeks have gone by so quickly. All I remember is saying goodbye to you as you leave for London. When the doctors ask me about my family, I tell them that my wife will be a doctor when we get married.

You should be home soon; the doctors have warned me that I may not be in a state to speak to you in a few days. I am not sure that will last.

Please visit me soon,

_Everett_

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><p>Dear <em><strong>Ms L. Weathers,<strong>_

We have received your letter to one of our patients, _**Mr Everett James**_, and we regret to inform you that he/she is not in a state to receive any mail. Please enquire if you have any remaining questions.

Regards,

Staff at Trovit Infirmary

**_18.06.21_**


End file.
